


Mine

by pipisafoat



Category: Rammstein
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-30
Updated: 2006-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flake watches Richard watch Till one time too many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

I've been watching him watch Till the whole night. Well, to be honest, I've been watching him every show, every day, in every town, of this entire tour. After all this time, I've come to the inescapable conclusion that Richard still wants Till.

Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. But my God, Till's fucking clueless! He continues to show off for me, night after night, but I'm too busy keeping an eye on Rich to notice. It would seem that I've missed some wonderfully arousing things, judging by his reactions.

Ah, it's Du Riechst So Gut, probably Richard's favorite live song by now. He goes off for a minute or so after this song almost every night. Incidentally, this is the very song that Till tries to set me off with. Coincidence? I think not. The one time I did watch Till's show on this song, I very nearly started humping my keyboard. At least Richard picked a sexy man to get aroused by. His choice in women isn't nearly as good.

Richard's starting his desperation routine. He folds his arms across his chest (good thing he doesn't need to play just yet) and tries to look away, but he can't stop watching Till stroking himself blatantly in front of yet another crowd. He can't help but hear the slight moan that gets mixed in the lyrics. And the next time he plays his guitar, he can't keep himself from pounding on it, hoping beyond hope that his stupid fucking guitar can learn to jack him off onstage. The next time he uses his voice, he can't hide the drop in pitch that accompanies his arousal. And oh god, I wish I wasn't so familiar with his desperation routine, both on and off the stage. That's one phase I'm glad I'm done with. We were both young and desperate for sex, but too shy to ever approach Till. Yes, the famed Richard Kruspe, shy to ask for sex! He came to me instead, and I wish I had never said yes.

But now the song is over. Richard's in even more of a hurry than normal. He hands his guitar to the closest stagehand and starts offstage as fast as he can move in those ridiculously tight silver pants. And what's this? His hand, slipping down to his crotch before he's offstage? Richard Kruspe, rubbing desperately while still in sight of the audience? Enough is enough. I will not put up with his... his... his blatant attraction to my man anymore. It's time to take matters into my own hands.

I find him leaning against a wall, just barely offstage, fumbling clumsily at his pants. Aww, the poor guy is so aroused, he can't remember that his pants don't have a zip. What an idiot. It would be very unkind of me to not help him out, wouldn't it?

I think I take him by surprise when I grab his hands and stretch them out above his head. It's enough for me to hold them both up there with one of my hands while the other one reaches down and grabs him through his pants.

"Having trouble, Rich?" It's probably not worth expecting a reply, considering the state he's in. "Need some help with this?" He arches into my hand, head thunking back against the wall. In a conscious mockery of Till's little stunt, my hand slides into Rich's pants as he gasps in air. My long fingers curl around his cock and just squeeze as my other hand helps his own pull his pants down just low enough to not be in the way.

"Till's hot, isn't he?" I ask, stroking Rich hard and fast. "I wonder if he's ever come onstage, with his hand down his pants..." He comes in my hand, muffling his cry with a fist stuffed in his mouth. Damn, he must have been close already.

His head flops onto my shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. Bending down to his ear, I whisper, "But I do know firsthand that he's come in my bed. In me." I remove my hand and wipe the offending mess on his chest. "Stay. Away. From. Till. He's mine, and you'd better remember that." I straighten up and begin to walk away, leaving his cock exposed to the world. "Come on, Rich, back on stage," I call over my shoulder.


End file.
